


Super Secret Super Weapon

by cattyk8



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattyk8/pseuds/cattyk8
Summary: Superman has a superpower only a few people know about. Or, five times Clark used his Super Puppy Dog Eyes on Batman, and one time Bruce used them on him.





	Super Secret Super Weapon

* * *

**In the Batcave**

* * *

 

“Stay out of Gotham.”

It is a rule virtually every hero knows and lives by, even after the formation of the Justice League. Even after Batman becomes its strategic leader. Speedsters make detours just to give the city limits a wide berth, and heroes with powers of flight do the same with its airspace.

Most of the senior heroes are happy to regale new recruits with stories about how the Bat has banished them from his city, never to return unless it is with his express permission or request via official League channels.

“Bruce!” Superman calls out one evening as he flies into the cave under Wayne Manor. This is such a frequent occurrence that he no longer sets off alarms as he does so; Batman had long ago keyed his biometrics into the security systems.

“Superman.”

The Man of Steel grimaces at the Dark Knight’s flat tone, glad Bruce hasn’t turned away from whatever he’s working on at the large computer on one side of the cave. “Aww, don’t be like that. And I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that it’s fine to call me Clark when we’re in private, Bruce.”

“Using civilian names when in uniform encourages sloppiness. The visual cue of a uniform helps train your brain to—”

“Okay, okay, _Batman_. But it’s not like you’re wearing your cowl, anyway. So I can call you Bruce.”

“Hnn.”

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Do you know why I’m here?”

“I’m sure you will inform me.”

“What’s this I hear about you not allowing other heroes, especially metas, in Gotham?”

“It is for their own safety. While for the most part human, Gotham’s rogues often require an experienced hand.”

“I know that, B,” Clark says, nodding. He and Batman first met when Bruce followed the Joker to Metropolis and helped diffuse a Joker-Luthor team-up that threatened Clark’s life. He shudders at the thought of dealing with someone like the Clown Prince of Crime without Batman by his side. “But while I knew you didn’t want people working cases in Gotham, I didn’t know you’d banned them from the city altogether.”

“Hnn.”

“You do know that tells me nothing, right? Use your words, Batman!”

“Hnn.”

“It’s funny, though.” Clark has taken to floating in a lounging position as he muses on the peculiarities of his favorite Bat. Bruce keeps his eyes on the screen, but absently picks up a cookie from the plate left to one side of the console and passes it back to the Kryptonian as he floats past. “You never banned _me_ from Gotham.”

“I tried.”

“What?” Shock has the Man of Steel sitting up, still in midair. His eyes are wide, as wide as his mouth would be if his Ma hadn’t drummed into him at an early age the necessity of keeping his mouth closed while chewing. Nevertheless (and uncaring of his crumb-covered countenance), he gapes at the back of Bruce’s head. “You what?”

Bruce stops typing. He swivels his chair to face Clark. “I tried. The first time you tried to sneak up on me on the top of Wayne Tower.”

“I remember that! I was pretty sure I didn’t make a sound, but you still turned to me and said—” And at this, Clark deepens his voice into an approximation of the Bat’s growl “—‘Get out of my city, alien.’” His face falls. “Oh. _Oh._ You really meant it, huh?”

“Hnn.” Bruce turns back to the computer, resumes typing.

“So why did you let me keep coming back?”

“Like I could have stopped you.”

“You could’ve,” Clark said slowly. “You absolutely could have. And you didn’t have to let me into the cave, or the manor. You didn’t have to introduce me to Dick or Alfred. What makes me so special?”

Bruce says nothing.

But the Man of Steel is curious now, and he takes hold of Bruce’s chair and turns it so the Dark Knight has to look him in the eye. “Tell me why, Bruce.”

Superman’s eyes are big, limpid pools of blue. His dark brows slant upward, giving those eyes a downward tilt that matches the unhappy pout of his lips.

 _That_. Bruce thinks, resentfully, as he meets the gaze of the giant puppy dog in the form of the strongest man alive. _That’s why_. Not that he would tell Clark that. “It was a strategic decision,” he says, focusing inward to keep his breathing and heartrate steady. “I wanted to keep an eye on you to make sure you could be trusted not to go rogue.”

Superman crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow, and Bruce is grateful his face now shows skepticism and humor. “Is that the only reason? You didn’t have to invite me to the cave to do that. In fact, if that’s what you were doing, it makes no sense for you to have done so.”

 _You were lonely_ , Bruce thinks. _And so was I_. But of course he doesn’t say that. “By then you’d met Dick,” he says instead. “And you know how he was—how he still is—about you.”

“That doesn’t explain why you won’t let anyone else into Gotham, Bruce.”

“I have neither the time nor the inclination to vet every single hero—”

“You vet them for the Justice League.”

Bruce scowls. “I’m not about to let the rest of the League in here. It’s not like you let them into your Fortress, either.”

Clark smiles a little. “Point. But my Fortress is not a city.”

Bruce is spared from having to respond when an alarm goes off. He swivels back to check the computer, hits a few buttons, then rises, pulling his cowl on as he strides toward the car. “Two-Face is robbing Gotham National Bank,” he says. He’s all Batman, all business, now.

Clark straightens. “Need any assistance?”

“No.”

“Should I leave?”

“If you like.”

It’s not a no. Clark beams. “I’ll just stay here, then. Monitor the feeds. Stay on coms.”

“Fine.” Batman jumps into his car and starts it up. As he roars out of the cave, Clark hears him mutter, “There better still be cookies when I get back.”

Smiling, the Man of Steel floats over until he can drop into the Bat’s very comfortable swivel chair. He reaches over and grabs another one of Alfred’s homemade chocolate chunk cookies. No, he thinks as he sets the computer’s feed to track Batman’s progress across Gotham. He isn’t sure why the Bat doesn’t ban him from his city, but he’s awfully glad to be the exception to the rule.

 

 

* * *

**Over the Rooftops of Gotham**

* * *

 

It’s a slow night in Gotham, and the Bat is keeping his Robin occupied by having him practice his grapple work on the spires of the financial district. If he himself does a little more grappling than he strictly needs to, well, he tells himself he can use the practice himself. He doesn’t do it because it’s _fun_.

And the moment he feels the eyes on them, he stops and makes sure to blend into the shadows as he perches on a gargoyle. He doesn’t call Robin in; after all, he knows exactly who is watching them.

“Hi Batman.”

He’s glad of his lead-lined cowl and its protective lenses; it lets him roll his eyes without fear that the Man of Steel will see his reaction.

“Superman. What brings you to Gotham?”

“Oh, nothing.” Though the Kryptonian is hovering in mid-air 60 stories up, he nevertheless manages to shuffle his feet awkwardly. “It’s kind of a slow night in Metropolis tonight, and I thought I’d come and see what you were up to.”

Batman rolls his eyes again. “Patrolling.”

“Yes, I can see that. Gotham seems peaceful tonight as well.”

“Hnn.”

“Superman!” Robin’s voice is delighted, golden-bright and piercing through Gotham’s inherent darkness.

“Hi Robin!” Superman’s tone is equally cheerful.

Dick releases his grapple just as he hits the highest point of the parabola, all but catapulting himself at the Man of Steel. Superman catches him, of course, and the air is filled with a Robin’s chiming giggles as he proceeds to climb the Kryptonian like a monkey.

“It’s been ages since you last came to visit!”

“Has it?” Clark asks. “I’m pretty sure I came by last week.”

“You should just move to Gotham,” Robin says, managing to perch on Clark’s shoulder. “Metropolis is boring anyway.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s boring. And besides, you and Batman do such a good job in Gotham, there really isn’t much for me to do here.”

“That’s true,” the Boy Wonder says, executing a flip to do a handstand on Clark’s head.

Batman fights the urge to smile at his partner’s antics. There is something so joyous about Dick Grayson, something that resonates perfectly with the good ole boy charm and sheer positivity Metropolis’s hero tends to emanate. Sometimes he thinks both his ward and his fri—colleague are lights too bright for Gotham’s gloom to contain. Why the Bat finds himself flanked by such sunshiny personalities, he will never know, but he’ll always be grateful for it.

Not that he’d ever tell them that.

“Can you take me flying, Big Blue?” Dick is asking, having launched himself back into Superman’s arms. “It’s been a pretty slow night for us.”

“Only if Batman says it’s okay.”

Batman prides himself on never being taken by surprise, but even he is unprepared for the power of two sets of Super Puppy Dog Eyes as they are turned on him in simultaneously.

“Please, Batman?” Robin begs.

“Please, Batman?” Superman coos. Really, that tone of voice should be ridiculous in such a large man, such a powerful hero. Batman tries not to think about why he finds it so endearing.

“Fine.” He has to work to make his voice sound grumpy. “I’ll finish out patrol. Superman, you can fly Robin back to the cave. Robin, it’s straight to bed once you get home.”

“I could have homework! Supes can help!”

Batman narrows his eyes at his ward. “If you had homework, you would not have been allowed to patrol tonight.”

Robin deflates, his gambit for more time with his favorite hero having failed. “Okay,” he says. “But Supes gets to take me on a loop-de-loop.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll get him home safe, B,” Clark assures him. As if Batman would have agreed had he not already known that.

“Hnn.”

“Come on, Supes, show me what you’ve got!”

With an exuberant whoop that has Batman pressing his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling, Dick launches himself into the air, freefalling several stories as he trusts Superman will catch him. Which Superman does, of course.

The sound of Dick’s giggles peal through the night long after he and the Man of Steel are out of sight.

Thirty minutes later, Batman has rounded up a couple of would-be muggers and is thinking about heading back to the cave himself. There are a few case files he wants to review. He doesn’t think about being curious to see if the Kryptonian decided to wait for him tonight.

A displacement of air behind him alerts him to the fact that he is no longer alone. “Did Robin give you any trouble?” he asks.

“One of these days, I’m going to manage to sneak up on you.” Super-powered aliens shouldn’t be allowed to pout, but Batman doesn’t even have to turn to know that’s what Clark is doing. He can _hear_ the poutiness in his voice.

“Hnn.”

“Anyway, Di—Robin and I had so much fun, he had me promise to offer you a ride home.”

“I have a car.”

“And it has autopilot. Come on, B, it’ll be fun.”

“No.”

“But I promised Robin.”

“No.”

“Please?”

Batman turns to look at the man floating beside him. It’s a mistake, as for the second time that night, he’s hit with the Super Puppy Dog Eyes. His mouth flattens in a line. He can do this. He can say no.

“Please, B? I… I wanted to ask you something.”

Even in the gloomy light of Gotham, those eyes shine like liquid sapphires.

“Fine. But you’re not carrying me bridal style.”

Superman’s smile is like a sun at midnight. “Of course not,” he chimes. He floats down so he’s side by side with Batman, who is standing on the ledge of a rooftop. He carefully wraps one arm around the Bat’s upper torso, under his cape. Then with an expression that can only be described as mischievous, launches them both into the air.

Batman is expecting it, though, so he keeps his pulse steady, even if the suddenness of the movement and the rush of air force him to inhale a little more than he would otherwise. He suppresses the urge to smile as Superman pulls them into a series of barrel rolls before shooting them across the bay, toward the Palisades, slowing down over the water.

“Ask,” he says.

“Hmm?” Superman is still smiling. Batman doesn’t have to see it to know.

“You wanted to ask me something.”

“Oh.” What was that tremor in the Man of Steel’s voice? “Oh, um, it can wait ‘til we get to the cave, B.”

“Superman.”

“Um… it’s just… doyouwanttomaybegrabsomecoffeesometime?” They falter in their flight as Superman speaks almost faster than he can make out.

“What.”

“Oh, um, nothing. Never mind, B. Oh, look! We’re back at the cave! I’ll just put you down and will be going now.”

Bruce rips off the cowl so he can glare at the Kryptonian, who is poised to take off.

“Clark.”

Superman shifts from red booted foot to red booted foot. He fiddles with the corner of his cape. “It’s nothing, B. Just a thought I had. Just forget it.”

Bruce stares at him, watches pink bloom on to those perfect, pale cheeks that never seem to really tan, despite the fact that the man basically sunbathes to eat.

“I’ve got a meeting at the Daily Planet on Friday at four,” he says finally.

Superman frowns. “You do?”

He waves an airy hand, a patented Brucie Wayne gesture of dismissiveness. “I do own it, after all.”

“Uh huh.”

“I could be free for a cup of coffee around five.”

“Oh.” It takes a moment for his words to register. “ _Oh_.”

“I’ll see you then, Mr. Kent.”

That sunny smile is back in full force. “I look forward to it, Mr. Wayne.”

 

 

 

* * *

**On the Watchtower**

* * *

 

“Superman, buddy, pal of mine! Mind if I walk with you?”

Clark frowns at the exaggerated exuberance of the Flash’s greeting as the speedster all but bounces off the walls of the corridor leading toward the Watchtower cafeteria. Not that the guy doesn’t sound over-caffeinated on any other given day, but there’s something more than the usual energy high in his voice today. Still, he says, “Sure. What’s up, Flash?”

“Did you see the plans for the Watchtower rec room?”

He frowns. “I thought Batman had already rejected the proposal.”

“He did, but the guys and I thought maybe you could ask him to reconsider.”

“The guys?”

“You know, GL, J’onn, Shayera. Even Diana said she’d be interested in having a place to, you know, Netflix and chill.”

“Really.”

“Yeah! We thought it would be good for team morale. Maybe we could even get the Bat to unwind.”

“Why not go and ask him yourself?”

The Flash scratches at the back of his head and grimaces sheepishly. “Uh, cause we thought it would be better coming from you? That way we’ve got a chance he won’t shoot the idea down right away.”

Superman stops walking. Or, rather, floating. He turns to the scarlet speedster with a frown. “What makes you think he’s more likely to hear your idea out if I’m the one to talk to him about it?”

Flash’s eyeroll is almost audible. “Supes, out of all the Justice League, if there’s anyone who stands a chance of getting the Bat to agree to something he doesn’t want to do, it’s you.”

“I don’t know, Flash. Batman’s already outfitted the Watchtower for us—”

“Come on, Supes. Please? Besides, he wouldn’t need to pay a cent or lift a finger. We just want to use one of the spare cargo holds, deck it out with a few things like a TV, a console, a couch, maybe a pool table. That kind of thing. GL’s volunteered to do the heavy lifting, and we’ll all pitch in for the entertainment stuff.”

“I’m happy to contribute as well, of course.”

“Awesome!” Flash grins and gives him a thumbs up. “But, really, we just need you to get Batman to approve it, Big Blue. Besides, Robin told us to ask you. Said you were the only one who could get the Bat to agree.”

Superman frowns. “You’ve been speaking with Robin?”

“A little? Fun guy. Anyway, what do you say? Will you talk to your BFF?”

The Man of Steel lets out a huge sigh. “Fine. And you’d better not hear Batman referring to us as that.”

“What? BFFs? Yeah, no, of course not. And it’s not like anybody else calls you guys that. BFFs, I mean. Nope, nobody. I definitely have not heard GL commenting on your BFF vibes—”

“Flash.” Superman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Stop talking. I will ask him.”

“You will?” The speedster’s whole demeanor lights up. “You’re the best, Supes!”

“No promises.”

“Of course not! I’m just gonna go and tell the others now.”

Superman sighs and floats the rest of the way to the cafeteria. It’s not long after he’s settled into a seat with some pasta and a sandwich that he’s joined by the Dark Knight. He smiles winningly as Batman sits down in the chair to his left, his own tray laden with a sandwich and fruit.

“Glad you could join me, B,” he says.

“Hnn.”

They discuss League matters as well as the investigations they’re working on. Clark relishes this down time with his favorite superhero; they haven’t seen each other in two weeks, as a breakout at Arkham kept the Batman busy, and then Clark had had to untangle one of Lex Luthor’s madcap schemes.

“So, B, about that rec room some of the other League members were proposing.”

Batman regards him with a flat stare. Clark meets it with what he hopes is a winning smile.

“Well, I was thinking about it,” he says, after the Dark Knight remains silent, “and I think it’s a good idea. It’d help boost morale and promote team bonding.”

“No.”

Clark tilts his head. “Come on, B. You know it would help cement the team together. We can’t spend all our time together battling bad guys or having meetings or training.”

“We are a defense and law enforcement organization, not a social one. I don’t see why not.”

Superman rolls his eyes. “Because not all of us are obsessed with a Mission, unlike some Dark Knights I could name. A little fun goes a long way to promoting productivity in a team.”

“This is the Justice League, not some hippie startup.”

“No, but every person here is fighting the good fight for no reason other than it’s the right thing to do. And most of us have identities where we have to hide a huge part of who we are on a day-to-day basis. So it can’t hurt to give them a way to relax a little and just be themselves with other people who get it, would it?”

“It could.”

“B.” Superman pouts. Then his eyes turn soft and puppylike. “Please?”

“Hnn.”

“Flash said you wouldn’t have to pay for it or anything. Him and GL and the rest would pay for the stuff and fix up one of the spare cargo bays.”

“I read the proposal, Kal.”

“Please, B? It would be nice to have a place to just hang out with the rest of the team.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, B!” He lets his pleasure shine through. Sneaks a glance and, upon noting that there isn’t anyone else in the cafeteria at this time, uses his superspeed to plant a kiss on the corner of the Dark Knight’s mouth before sitting back down so no one coming in would suspect what he’d just done.

He picks up his fork and spears some of his fusilli with it. “I think I’ll offer them the TV in my apartment,” he says idly.

“Hnn.”

“It’s not like I get much use out of it, seeing as I spend most of my nights at your place.” They’ve been going steady—though Bruce objects to calling it that—for almost a year now, and Clark ends about five out of seven nights in Gotham these days.

“It’s too small,” Batman says. “If I were to approve a recreational area, it would need to have a screen large enough for movie viewing by several people.”

Superman bites back a smile. “I’m sure you’re right, B. Still, waste not, want not.”

“I’ll tell Alfred to get out one of the spare smart TVs for you to take up sometime.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Whatever. I have to patrol.”

“Need any help?” Superman only offers because he knows he’s going to get the Batglare in response. For some reason, he’s learned to find it cute in the past few months.

“No.”

“Well, sing out if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“But if you do?”

“I won’t.”

“Bru—” A glare. Superman snaps his mouth shut. He knows when to pick his battles. “Batman. Fine. But don’t think I won’t be listening to your heartbeat.”

“Hnn.”

“Be safe! Call if you’re gonna be late coming home, dear!”

“Shut up, Kal.”

The Dark Knight sweeps out of the cafeteria in a huff. The Man of Steel just grins at his retreating back. Although they couldn’t hear the exchange between their two leaders, the rest of the League are tempted to shake their heads over the confusing dynamic between the World’s Finest. Then Superman looks over to where Flash is sitting with Hal and gives him a thumbs up. The speedster whoops in reply.

 

 

* * *

  **At a Gala**

* * *

 

Clark is scowling into his drink. It’s the annual Wayne Foundation Summer Gala, and Brucie Wayne is in his element. That is to say, he’s surrounded by fawning models and socialites. He flirts outrageously with all of them, though to be fair to him, his flirting is liberally applied to all and focused on none.

One particularly persistent admirer leans in, and Clark’s sensitive ears catch a suggestion to find a dark corner for a little private entertainment. His eyes redden as the woman’s hand inches down and brushes over Bruce’s groin in a practiced move that might look accidental to a casual observer. Which Clark Kent, reporter for the _Daily Planet_ and secret lover to the billionaire she’s propositioning, is not. He closes his eyes as red heat threatens to wash over his vision.

When he opens them again, Bruce has subtly moved the woman’s hand away and is staring at him from across the room. Upon meeting his eyes, the Gothamite rolls his own, then tilts his head toward the balcony doors, uttering a subvocal “ten minutes.” Clark ducks his head and turns toward the bar. He orders another drink and downs it.

“I see Brucie’s in fine form.”

Clark glances over and grimaces inwardly when he sees Cat Grant, who used to be the gossip columnist for the _Daily Planet_ before she started up her own media company, sidle up to the bar and take the seat next to his. Still, he plays dumb. “Huh?”

“Brucie Wayne, Gotham’s Prince and number one playboy,” Cat says patiently. “Or didn’t you recognize him under the pile of sycophants he’s buried under?”

“Oh. Ha. Ha. I didn’t realize.” He sounds like he’s faking, even to him. “I, uh, guess he’s pretty popular.”

But Cat doesn’t seem to notice. “That’s what I like about you, Clark,” she says warmly, laying a hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. Then twice. Then she starts tracing circles on the back of his jacket.

“My inability to recognize power players?” he jokes weakly. “Pretty sure that’s what Perry hates about me. He’s still pissed that I didn’t get a quote from Oliver Queen when he was in Metropolis for that meeting with Luthor last week.”

“You’re too nice a guy for this kind of gig.”

Clark nods gratefully at the bartender as he refills his glass. “Well,” he says, a little bitterly, “you know what they say about nice guys.”

“They get a bad rap,” she says, and she’s leaning closer now, those circles she’s tracing getting smaller and smaller. “I, for one, have a fine appreciation for nice guys.”

“I, uh, excuse me,” he says, jumping up. He downs the rest of his drink. “I need to, um, get some air.”

He only just manages to not use super speed while making his way to the balcony door.

“I know you like to say you have some ‘sway’ with Cat Grant, but I didn’t realize it was a euphemism for ‘she wants your ass any way you’ll give it to her,’” a familiar voice says from the shadows. “Not that I blame her. It _is_ a superior ass. Dare I say even a _super_ one.”

“Bruce.” Clark wishes the night were cooler; his cheeks are on fire, and thanks to his physiology, he can’t even blame the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Of course, there’s another word I’d use for it,” Bruce says, stepping out into the dim light of the balcony.

In the next moment, Clark is backed up against a wall, Bruce’s body plastered against his, warm lips against his throat evoking a tingling sensation that goes straight to his groin. “Mine,” Bruce growls and nips his earlobe, making Clark shiver with lust as Bruce presses even closer.

But he remembers that he’d wanted to talk. That not ten minutes ago, his lover had been flirting with half of Gotham’s blandest and most beautiful. So with an effort, he pushes past the haze of desire Bruce has always been able to raise in him, quicker than he ever imagined anyone could manage. He places his hands on the billionaire’s shoulders and uses a little of his super strength to hold Bruce at arm’s length.

“No, Bruce,” he says, and it would sound firmer if he weren’t panting a little. “I’m not here for a quickie.”

Bruce pouts. “What then?”

His Gothamite lover looks so utterly disgruntled, Clark is almost overcome by an aggressive sort of affection. He raises his hands to cup Bruce’s face, kisses him soundly. “You’re so cute.”

“I am not.”

The grumpiness is very much the Bat and not Brucie, but that just makes him more adorable in Clark’s eyes. “You are,” he says. Then he girds up his gumption and blurts out, “And I want us to go public.”

Bruce scowls. “You know my reasons for not doing so. It’s a security risk. If either one of our identities were compromised, it would be best if they weren’t linked—”

“I just want the world to know I’m yours, B,” Clark says. He doesn’t know it, but his eyes have gone limpid, his face pleading. “And I know we can keep each other safe. You have contingency plans for everything.”

“It’s not a wise course of action.”

“Some things are worth a little foolishness.” Clark’s mouth quirks in a smile, but his eyes are still on puppy dog mode. “Please, B?”

Bruce frowns, staring at his lover’s face for a long moment. Then he scrubs his face with a tired hand. “It’s really not fair when you do that,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“Fine,” he says. “We can start now.”

“Huh?”

A devilish light is gleaming in Bruce’s blue eyes. “I can see the headlines now: Brucie Wayne Debauches Mild-Mannered Reporter at Summer Gala.”

And he proceeds make that gospel truth. He also offers the follow-up exclusive to Cat Grant.

   

 

* * *

**On the Battlefield**

* * *

 

“I hate it when the bad guys team up,” Hal Jordan says as he swings a giant hammer construct to smash into one of the army of killer robots created by the Toyman.

“Tell me about it,” Superman replies through gritted teeth as he uses his heat vision to cut swathes through the hordes.

“Superman, be careful,” J’onn says into their coms. “Batman says Luthor’s robots are armed with Kryptonite.”

“Great,” Superman says with a sigh. “Just great.”

“I’ll take care of them if you take Poison Ivy’s kraken-plant things,” the Green Lantern offers.

“Thanks.”

Superman gets to work searing off the vines that have been strangling heroes and civilians alike. Poison Ivy screams with rage and starts ranting at the damage he is doing to her “babies.” He ignores her, focusing instead on rescuing the people she has trapped.

He dodges as she launches herself at him, but a black shadow intercepts her attack. Batman quickly incapacitates her with some sort of spray tranquilizer, then taps the com in his ear to activate it. “Flash, help Superman get the civilians to safety,” he barks out.

“You got it, Bats,” Flash says, and Superman hands over two unconscious civilians he’s freed from the vines.

“Superman, run triage,” Batman says, handing over a set of red, yellow, green, and black ribbons he pulls from one of the many pockets of his utility belt.

It’s probably only because Superman is reaching for the ribbons that Batman is able to execute the move that yanks him off balance.

“What the hell, B?” he demands as he finds himself displaced by a couple of feet, but he’s already watching a batarang fly into one of Luthor’s robots and explode. At the same moment, Batman stumbles back into him. Instinctively, he puts his arms out to steady the Dark Knight.

Whose legs give out from under him.

“B?”

Flash comes zipping back for more victims, and he stops abruptly, his arms windmilling in a way Clark would find comical if they weren’t in the middle of a battlefield. And if he wasn’t the only thing keeping Batman upright.

“Oh shit, Bats,” Flash whispers.

And that’s when Clark knows it’s bad. He lowers Bruce to the ground, and the first thing he sees is the blood. The next thing he sees is the green glow emanating from inside— _inside_ —Batman’s chest. He can’t tell if the blood that’s roaring in his ears and the wave of dizziness that overtakes him is from Kryptonite or fear for the man who has, once again, saved his life.

“Batman,” he says desperately, putting a hand over the wound even as the proximity to the green mineral the bullet is made of sends pain shooting up his arm. He grits his teeth and presses down. “Stay with me, B.”

“You never… watch your six,” Batman says, coughing wetly.

“You could’ve just told me to move,” Superman says. He turns to the Flash. “Take over here. I’m going to get him to the medics.”

But the man who is bleeding all over his hands countermands him. “No. Civilians first.”

Because of course Batman would prioritize the lives of innocents over his own. Quickly Clark scans the remaining civilians. “Everyone’s green, B,” he says, cursing the time it takes to do so, time Batman may not have. “You’re the only one who’s red.”

“Take him to the Watchtower medbay, Supes,” Flash says. “The medics here are scrambling. Lantern and I will handle triage. Wondy and Shayera are on robots.”

“Fine. J’onn—”

“I have a lock on your location, Superman, and a med team standing by.”

There’s a wash of light, and then they’re back in the Watchtower, where, as promised, a team of doctors is already waiting. Superman carefully lays the Dark Knight on the gurney and helps the doctors wheel him to the medbay and directly into the operating theater.

Clark knows he should step aside, let the doctors work. But he has Bruce’s hand in his, and he can’t seem to let go. The doctors work around him.

“Stay with me, B,” he says urgently, feeling the Dark Knight’s eyes on him. He bites down on a sob, but lets the tears flow down his cheeks, afraid to blink or look away for even a moment. He uses his eyes to plead with his lover to keep fighting, his voice lost to the clutch of terror in his throat.

“Not… going anywhere,” Batman whispers, and it’s too low for anyone but a Kryptonian with super hearing to catch. “Never could… resist those eyes.”

It’s only later, when Bruce is in recovery and Clark is talking to Dick, that Clark stops to wonder what Bruce meant by that comment.

“Robin,” he says a little hesitantly. “Bruce said something about my eyes when the doctors were working on him. I don’t understand what he was talking about.”

Despite the fact that Batman is still in critical condition, the boy starts to snicker. “Supes, are you telling me you don’t do it on purpose?”

Clark frowns. “Do what?”

“The Super Puppy Dog Eyes.”

“The what?”

Robin is full-on giggling now. “Alfred calls it your true super power. It makes Bruce all gooey on the inside when you do that eye thing. Where do you think I learned it?”

“I don’t understand, Dick. Learned what?”

So Robin, after failing a couple attempts to regain control after his giggling fit, finally sobers up enough to blast Superman with his own version of the Man of Steel’s greatest weapon—at least when it comes to battling it out with stubborn Bats.

“Oh! _Oh_.” And Clark finds himself smiling foolishly at the unconscious form of the Dark Knight. “He never told me.”

“Well, duh. ‘It’s a strategic mistake to reveal a weakness to the person who wields it.’”

Clark knows exactly whom Dick is quoting. He laughs for the first time since the battle. Remembering what he’d asked of Bruce before the man had lost consciousness, he allows himself to be fully convinced that Batman will be just fine.

And if he uses his newly discovered Super Puppy Dog Eyes power to make sure the Dark Knight adheres to the doctors’ orders of bed rest and proper medication, he figures Bruce has it coming to him, after the stunt he pulled.

  

 

* * *

  **In Smallville**

* * *

 

It’s been six months since Bruce took a Kryptonite bullet to the chest, and Batman has been back on the streets of Gotham for five of them, kicking ass and taking names like he always does. But Superman can’t help but worry about his lover, having nearly lost him on the battlefield.

And he hovers. Just a little bit.

He exploits his exception to the no-metas-in-Gotham rule, keeping in contact with Alfred and Dick to stay apprised of Batman’s health, not to mention his comings and goings. He shamelessly employs his Super Puppy Dog Eyes to coax extra time in bed with Bruce in the mornings, to convince his lover to take meals at the dinner table or in the kitchen instead of in the cave, to vie for monthly vacations and staycations, even if only for the length of a weekend.

The Bat is well aware of his machinations, of course. But Clark lets the knowledge that Bruce allows him a measure of mother henning—albeit not without the obligatory grudging protests—lighten his heart and blunt the occasionally barbed remarks the Bat throws his way.

One weekend toward the end of summer, he, Dick, and Alfred gang up on Bruce and talk him into visiting the Kents for a few days. Clark is delighted to be visiting Smallville with his grumpy Bat, and the Kents welcome the couple with wide smiles, open arms, and lots of delicious homecooked goodies.

But what Clark doesn’t know is that everything is going exactly according to Bruce’s plan.

On their last night in Smallville, Bruce persuades Clark to take a walk with him through the golden cornfields. As they lean against a fence post, Bruce quirks a smile at the Man of Steel. Says, “Hey Clark. Want to go flying?”

Clark straightens, stares at him with wide eyes. “You never want to go flying, unless it’s for a mission.”

Bruce’s smile widens into a grin. “It’ll be fun,” he says, tilting his head in a way Clark finds endearing. “I promised Robin.”

Clark narrows his eyes at him. “Have you been body snatched?”

Bruce shrugs, still grinning. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Still suspicious, Clark says, “Only if you’ll let me carry you bridal style.”

Bruce grits his teeth, and he’s under no illusion that Superman can’t see and hear his jaw working tensely. “Fine.”

With a whoop and a smile that lights up the Kansas evening, Clark scoops his Dark Knight up and launches them into the air. They soar over fields and farmhouses for a time before circling back around to the Kent farm.

They touch down on the roof of the barn where Clark spent many an angsty hour in his teenage years. “Let’s just sit awhile and look at the stars, hmm?” Clark suggests.

“Sounds perfect.”

Clark’s eyes aren’t on the sky, but on the brilliant man beside him. “Ask.”

“Hmm?”

“You wanted to ask me something,” Clark reminds him, in an echo of a conversation they’d had over the rooftops of Gotham all those years ago.

Bruce smiles. “Guess there’s no hiding anything from your x-ray vision.”

“Is there a lead-lined container in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Bruce snorts at that, then sobers. He pulls the box out at meets Clark’s eyes. His own are large and as vulnerable as Clark has ever seen them. The Man of Steel bites back a smile at the sight of his lover giving him his own version of the Super Puppy Dog Eyes.

“Clark,” Bruce says. “Kal. Superman. It’s recently come to my attention that life is short, and the ways it can be cut shorter still are many and myriad in our line of work. Will you marry me, and be mine for the rest of whatever time we have together?”

“Bruce,” Clark says, smiling broadly. “Batman. Brucie.” His smile turns into a full-on grin when Bruce grimaces at that last name. “I’ll be happy to marry you, but there’s something you should know by now—I’ve always been yours, and I always will be.”

“And I’m yours.”

Clark’s smile is smug now. “I know.”

Bruce sighs. “I should’ve known I was doomed the moment you came to Gotham with those puppy dog eyes of yours. I swear, they’re your worst super power.”

“Don’t worry,” Clark says, chuckling. “They’re a super power that will remain a super secret I’ll take to my grave. And only use with discretion.”

“You’d better,” Bruce says. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn’t have to give Clark the Eyes for him to comply.

**Author's Note:**

> This plunny had been hopping around my head for weeks before I decided to write it as a 5+1 fic in answer to a 3K-in-3-hours challenge by my friend and name-twin Kate. It’s my first 5+1 fic ever, and I’m pretty happy with how it came out, so thanks, Kate! Also, much thanks to my awesome beta reader, [KaizokuHime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaizokuHime/), for the helpful feedback and to the folks at the ManManBangBang Discord server for the formatting and syntax advice!


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